


Flyboys III

by idyll



Series: Fly Boys [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG1
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-22
Updated: 2007-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little flying, a little fucking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flyboys III

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justhuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/gifts).



An offworld injury and an enforced Milky Way leave result in Mitchell and John, respectively, being scheduled for their X305 qualifications on the same day at the Alpha Site. They bookend the day, John first thing in the morning, and Mitchell last of the day.

John watches Mitchell's run, just like Mitchell watched his eight hours before. In the air, at the stick, Mitchell's ballsy without being risky, aggressive without being self-destructive, and amped without being insane.

None of it comes as a surprise to John, who stands in a clearing on the Alpha Site, head craned back, and follows the path of Mitchell's 305 with his eyes while his cock stands at attention. When Mitchell finishes and coasts his way out of the test flight path, John can't help but reach for the comm mic.

"Not bad, Mitchell," he drawls blandly, like it did nothing to him to see Mitchell maneuver that bird, like he's not two strokes of his hand away from coming in his flight suit. "I mean, you looked like a seal on land during your barrel rolls, but, not bad."

"Like you can talk, Sheppard," Mitchell laughs. "I was ready to stick a bumper sticker on your tail when I saw you banking: _makes wide turns_. Get your ass up here and let's see what these things can do."

Mitchell comes in low, then, zooming directly overhead, the sound boom in his wake minimized by all the alien technology in the 305.

John looks at Colonel Abrams, who smirks and jerks his thumb at the sole 305 still on the field. "Landry and O'Neill knew you'd both ask, and they gave the go ahead."

There's a plotted course flashing on John's display when he climbs into the 305. It goes through the mountain range a few hundred miles away, over a long stretch of ocean, and right into the middle of the misty air over the rain forest on another continent.

Mitchell's voice comes over John's headset just as John's powering up. "You up for it, Sheppard?"

And Mitchell's voice is easy going and relaxed, but the sound of it ripples over John, like another muted sonic boom, and he has to close his eyes for a moment before he can respond. "You know I am," he says lightly, and he's in the air a few short minutes later, pulling up alongside Mitchell so that they can hit the starting point at the same time.

They race the U shaped course Mitchell plotted, slicing through the air so smoothly that John hardly feels it, hardly has to force the stick. They fight for the lead, and sometimes it's just a matter of chasing the other and accelerating past him, but mostly it's a matter of battling for position, trying to intimidate the other into backing down enough to lose the advantage, and John's adrenaline hasn't pumped like this since his last suicide mission.

"Goddamn this is good," he laughs as they come out of the mist and are over the ocean again.

"No, this is fucking great," Mitchell corrects him. "Shit, let's really open them up this time."

John looks at all the open space in front of him, the Alpha Site continent just a speck in the distance, and shivers. On the way here they amused themselves by falling into drops over the ocean, sometimes tumbling into rolls, other times not, and pulling up at the very last second before they touched the water.

Going fast and straight has its own appeal, though, a different appeal, and John does the equivalent of pushing the throttle to signal his agreement with Mitchell's suggestion. Mitchell is only half a second behind him, and it could be either one of them that laughs, but it's Mitchell who lets out a whoop and hollers something that sounds suspiciously like, "Hoo doggy!"

They go faster than John ever dreamed of, faster than he thought was possible just a few years ago, and John's heart is pounding hard, the sound of it seemingly falling into his wake, trying to catch up to him.

They maneuver through the mountain range, John using deft and subtle twitches of his hands to make sharp, breakneck turns, never once slowing down, while Mitchell does the same beside him. On his own, John would have been more reckless, just like Mitchell would have been more conservative, and John welcomes the osmosis of style, the symbiotic workings of speed and motion, and misses it because flying the Jumpers is a solo endeavor even when there are five of them flying.

Beyond the mountain range they begin to pull back, ease down on speed, and they're practically coasting when they come up on the Alpha Site air field.

John's vibrating when he climbs out, his mouth stretched into a grin he can't seem to turn off. Mitchell's pretty much the same, and they clap each other's backs a whole lot before getting kicked off the field and sent back to Earth.

There were two days of medical exams and briefings before the qualification, and John stayed on base for it. But he's been released from the mountain now and he goes directly to his quarters to change into civilian cloths and pack his stuff up. His dick doesn't soften the entire time, and John's grateful that he got a baggy flight suit, and that he has enough give in his jeans that it's not obvious. The damn thing won't go down on it's own, and he refuses to do anything about it in a monitored room.

Mitchell catches him in front of the elevator to the surface. "Got plans?" he asks.

"Not tonight, no, but I'm heading out of town in the morning," John answers and curls his hands tightly around his luggage handles to hide the shaking, and he knows Mitchell's hands are crammed into his leather jacket for the same reason. "Got a hotel room for the night."

Mitchell nods. "Pay per view and mini bar?"

John nods back, using every bit of control to keep his face and body language relaxed looking. "I could use a ride there."

"No problem," Mitchell replies, and it's only because John's in a similar state that he can see he strain around the edges of his smile.

The elevator ride is long and torturous, the car stopping on every single floor between Gate level and the surface, and John suffers through small talk with one of the nurses who assisted with his medical exam three days ago.

Eventually they're at Mitchell's car, and John shoves his cases into the back seat before climbing in. Mitchell guns the engine and takes off with a screech of tires, not going nearly as fast as it sounds like he is, or as he could be.

They drive in silence, only speaking so that Mitchell can ask which hotel and John can answer him, both of them sounding harsh and gravelly. Once there, Mitchell waits by the elevator while John checks in and refuses the assistance of a bellhop.

The trip to the tenth floor is quick, and John's suite is down a short hallway and around a corner. Inside, John drops his bags on the floor by the door and leads the way into the bedroom, Mitchell following wordlessly.

They stand at the foot of the bed and undress, looking at each other the entire time, like it's a staring contest. There should be a feeling of dissonance for John because this isn't what he would normally do in this situation, but there isn't. He and Mitchell are still maneuvering through that mountain range together, still locked on and tuned in to each other and it'll pass soon enough.

"Think I owe you," John grates out when they're both naked, standing there hard and tense and ready to spring. "Wanna call the favor in?"

Mitchell shakes his head and his lips curl in something that looks like a smile but is harder and more ironic. "Not this time," he replies and then he pounces.

John twists enough that he doesn't land on his back when Mitchell tackles him to the bed, and they land on their sides, hands on each other's arms, grappling for position and leverage. Mitchell's broader, more muscled, but John's more flexible and has a better eye for finding openings in someone's defenses and offenses.

They roll back and forth on the bed, teeth bared and lips curled, and they use mostly their arms and hands in the struggle because neither of them wants to take a knee to the crotch. They end up right on the edge of the bed and almost go tumbling over. They jerk at the last minute and reverse the motion, but momentum carries them across the king size bed, sliding them into a barrel roll that launches them off the bed, and there's a split second when they're airborne before they drop. They scramble mid-air and when they land on the floor they manage to find another bit of synchronicity and they hardly feel the impact before they slide into another roll.

And it could be either one of them that laughs, but it's John who groans a long, drawn out, "_Yeah_" and thrusts up when he lands on the bottom.

Mitchell pins John's hands to the floor on either side of John's head, and immobilizes his hips by sitting on them, and John would resent it more if Mitchell hadn't let him have the upper hand the other two times they'd done this.

Mitchell stretches forward, and slides his cock between John's sweaty thighs. He pulls back, pushes in, and the length of his cock drags along John's balls, the sensation so intense it's closer to pain than pleasure, and John screams, rough and choked, behind his teeth. "Oh, _fuck_!"

Mitchell smirks at him and pulls back again. "Can't take it, Sheppard?"

John narrows his eyes and then stretches his arms out, taking Mitchell's with him when the other man doesn't let go of his wrists, and when they're nose to nose, John tilts his face up a scant inch and bites at Mitchell's lips.

Mitchell's head rears back and he curses, but his hips shove forward, hard and fast, and it's a rush that makes the world spin crazily around John and he gets dizzy with it.

Above him, Mitchell is licking his swollen lips and glaring. John grins and tightens his thighs around Mitchell's cock, urges him to move, which he does, frantic and selfish, without consideration or mercy, and John does the same under him, thrusting and writhing upwards and away, only his own needs in mind, trying his damnedest to make the most of the way his cock brushes against Mitchell's abdomen every so often.

They've been on edge since they were flying on the Alpha Site, and they should be ready to shoot almost right away, but it goes on and on, until John is incoherent from it and every spark of pleasure is like raw agony and he has to grind his teeth just to endure it. Just when John's ready to shove Mitchell off him to make it end, Mitchell's hips stutter out of rhythm and then still. He groans when he comes all over John's thighs, and almost falls onto John's chest.

"Off," John hisses, shoving Mitchell to the side. He's still pushing up, trying to find friction for his aching cock, and he fumbles for one of Mitchell's hands and drags it over. "Do me, now, yeah."

Mitchell's hand is too soft, too slow, and he grins when John glares at him, desperate and ready to lose his goddamn mind if he doesn't come.

"Son of a bitch," John growls and covers Mitchell's hand with his own, tightening his grip, moving his hand faster, curving his palm over the head of John's cock, and it only takes a dozen strokes before John spills over their fingers, his orgasm strong enough to makes his tendons strain, but too intense for him to even make a sound.

Mitchell's hand doesn't stop, and John finally pulls it off his too-sensitive dick before he starts crying.

"Well," Mitchell says faintly after a while.

"Yeah," John croaks.

Mitchell clears his throat. "I'm calling that favor in."

If he had the energy, John would jerk his head to the side and gape. Instead, all he can do is pry his eyelids up and gasp out, "What?"

"You're not leaving until the morning," Mitchell reminds him. "And you owe me, Sheppard."

John can barely breathe, every muscle in his body is twitching, his balls have been rubbed raw, and he thinks he broke his goddamn dick with how hard he came. He laughs weakly and closes his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

.End


End file.
